


Shields and Seashells

by excessiveshipping



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F slur, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Transphobia, Trans Male Character, trans Anatole, weird timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excessiveshipping/pseuds/excessiveshipping
Summary: Dolokhov is lost in memories throughout his life and there always seems to be one common theme.High School AU where Anatole is trans and Dolokhov is a mess.





	Shields and Seashells

**Author's Note:**

> As a preface this is mostly a series of flashbacks Dolokhov has when he's a junior in high school relating to his relationship with Anatole. Anatole is a trans guy and as a trans author is based around some of my own experiences and others that I know. Enjoy!

“Hey Fedya?” 

 

Dolokhov cracked open his drooping eyes for what felt like the twentieth time in the last few minutes. It was pitch black in the room where they laid on the floor, bundled up in sleeping bags. They should’ve gone to sleep hours ago but stayed in a half awake state continuously muttering things to each other. “Yeah?” he responded, sleepiness clogging his voice.

 

“I- I think I’m actually a boy. Yeah I’m a boy.” He said it so final into the darkness. For a moment everything was silent bar the thumping of hearts, and rapidly growing breath. 

 

Dolokhov furrowed his eyebrows for a second before replying, “alright”. Thinking back he thinks he’s heard of that, of people being not the gender people say they are. It helped explain the drastic haircut that had occurred not a week before. 

 

“So like you should call me he not she. And uh don’t call me a girl or anything,” the eleven year old said.

 

“Sure” Dolokhov replied calmly. Not as if that seemed very difficult especially for his best friend. “Do you have a boy name?”

 

“Uh I’ll get back to you on that,” he said. Fedya hummed in response eyes drooping down yet again. He didn’t really understand everything about this but he figured it would be alright to ask more questions when it wasn’t after midnight. 

 

He had drifted back into the state between sleeping and wake when suddenly he was jolted by the sound of giggles. “What’s so funny?” he asked unable to keep a smile from his face. The pale haired boy’s laughs only grew causing Dolokhov to join more softly.

 

Only after a good minute filled with laughter when their stomachs hurt and their chests were filled with joy was an explanation given. “They are so stupid” he exclaimed before collapsing into giggles yet again. “We had to beg for weeks just to sleep in the same room and we’re both boys!” 

 

Fedya beamed and without really knowing why his eyes pricked slightly with tears. It had been awhile since he had seen his best friend truly this happy. The young kid already was learned in the art of putting up fronts but hopefully those walls wouldn’t last. “The stupidest.”

 

Then back to the silence, but it felt less final this time. His eyes no longer drooped but stayed wide open with a soft smile on his face. He heard the rustling beside him indicating the eleven year old had turned to face him. Shifting, Dolokhov laid on his side so that their faces were only a few feet apart.

 

The silence continued as the looked at each other smiling softly, before gently being broken. “I love you. I hope that’s not weird to say since we’re guys but I do. You’re my best friend Fedya.”

 

“That’s not weird” he replied happiness flooding his chest again. He turned his eyes away from the others’ and suddenly a body shifted over to hug him. Small arms held him tight and with a bit of adjusting Dolokhov returned the embrace. Together they laid like that, wrapped in each other without speaking.

 

Slowly the younger drifted off to sleep still curled around him. Fedya listened to the soft breathing against his chest, thinking. He didn’t know what was going to happen from now on but it felt like things might change. Whatever came however he knew he’d only regret one thing. He should have said it back, the kid was his friend, his family yet it seemed so scary just to admit those three words. Fedya wasn’t brave like him, he didn’t know how to face the world with a smirk and a jaunty step. 

 

He stayed awake for a little too long that night, having worries that should not wrack a twelve year old’s brain but by morning he couldn’t help but succumb to the joy radiating off the pale boy next to him. So truly nothing really changed with them at least.

 

*******

 

Dolokhov remembered the night as if it was yesterday despite the long five years that had past. He remembered every inflection and waver and defiance in the voice of the boy who not a week later declared his name Anatole, a title as big and brash as he would always be. The perfect label to use as a shield from all that wished to rob it from him. He wasn’t like Fyodor, who would take the offensive the moment a weapon of words was drawn. He never got in trouble for fights or said things he regretted. No, Anatole just walked through trusting all bullets to bounce right off because how dare they have the audacity to try and hurt him.

 

It was the greatest irony of their time that while people praise Dolokhov for bravery, for masculinity, the most flamboyant person he had ever met was 40 times the man of him. Sometimes he wondered if anyone even deserved to share the title with Anatole. Particularly him.

 

*******

 

Suddenly he was thrown into another memory, this time from when he was 14. Back at those times when recess still existed although it had been diminished to just whatever you can do on a blacktop and in a field. Dolokhov leaned against the brick of the school not planning on doing much other than enjoying the fresh air as was common for most 8th graders who were far too cool for recess. Anatole however, enthusiastic as always greeted him before bounding away to play tag with a few others that hadn’t lost their inner child quite yet. 

 

“She’s such a fucking weirdo” muttered a kid not three feet away from him, clearly referring to Anatole. Dolokhov’s fists clenched and jaw set with annoyance.

 

“ _He's_ none of your fucking business, jackass” he said pushing up to the boy. Fyodor may not be the tallest person, with Anatole already close to taller after his recent growth spurt but his broad shoulders and early starting beard made him pretty intimidating for a middle schooler.

 

The other seem undeterred however. “Why do you care so much about ‘him’ fucking faggot.” 

 

In an instant Dolokhov’s fist connected with his face. The boy tried to fight back but he was rattled from the first punch and quickly dropped to the ground. Dolokhov kicked at his stomach twice before a hand was yanking him back by the arm. He was ready to unleash some of his anger on whoever wanted to stop him before he heard the soft but strong voice. “Fedya stop” Anatole insisted, pulling him a few more steps away.

 

Fyodor stumbled turning towards Anatole as his rage became confused. “He said shit, he used the wrong-”

 

“Hey I can fight my own battles I don’t need you to beat anyone up alright,” he said quite firmly.

 

“Yeah, yeah... Fuck I’m gonna be in trouble.”

 

“Yeah you are.”

 

*****

 

Dolokhov knows he shouldn’t even think this but he almost misses the days where people were so blatantly transphobic. It was so much easier to know who to punch. Now it was always the girls fanning over him going between fetishizing him as a gay guy- which he wasn’t- or wanting to experiment with the hot trans guy. Now it was Anatole sleeping with whoever because why shouldn’t he and saving the hurt of peoples’ comments for those quiet times they still had on the floor of Dolkhov’s room where he allowed himself to cry. 

 

Dolokhov never really shared much in that darkness. Anatole had dumped out his soul twenty times over and all he had to say was who made him mad. That was always the easiest emotion for him. It seemed so effortless for the fair haired boy to be open. He barely spared a thought before admitting his deepest secrets. Take freshman year for an example.

 

****

 

Dolokhov was wandering down the hall of the new school, dragging his feet before he would have to go to football practice. It wasn’t that he disliked the sport, just some of the members seemed unfavorable and besides, hockey was his main. High school seemed like it was changing everything. People weren’t expected to have friends outside of their groups. He should be friends with guys in sports not some music nerd. Not that anyone told him that in so many words, he just felt this divide growing.

 

He and Anatole hardly ever saw each other in school. While Dolokhov had packed his schedule with the highest levels he could, already having to think about colleges and scholarships, Anatole chose a lighter schedule. “I’m going to be a musician anyway, what’s the point?” he had said despite the fact he could probably ace any class with minimal effort. Always so good at everything, he probably would easily become a professional musician as he loaded his coursework with chorus and orchestra. Of course they still met up a bit outside of school, though it was hard to work around their growing practice time. 

 

“Hey Fedya!” shouted a familiar voice from behind, waking him from his negative thoughts. He slowed to a stop and turned around to see Anatole half-running towards him, a slight mess of gangly limbs. “I wanted to tell you something!” he said after nearly bumping into Dolokhov.

 

“Alright” he said smiling at the always enthusiastic boy, “What’s up man?”

 

“I’m pansexual,” he said still a little out of breath, not pausing for a second. “I just figured it out and wanted you to be the first I told as is tradition.” He smiled happily at Dolokhov.

 

“Oh ok uh- can I ask what that means specifically?” he said softly, feeling embarrassed that he didn’t know. He tried to keep himself educated about stuff but mostly he learned from what Anatole told him.

 

“Oh yeah whoops. It just means I’m attracted to people regardless of gender. Boys, girls, nonbinary people, doesn’t really matter as long as their hot,” he said with a laugh.

 

“Ahh cool, cool. Though I’d say they also have to be nice,” Fyodor said with a little bit of joking warning in his voice.

 

“Or you’ll beat them up, yeah, yeah I know. Another thing, I’m planning on joining the GSA here- one of my orchestra friends is actually the president- and wanted to ask if you’d like to come too? It’s for queer people or allies too of course, right after school on thursdays.”

 

Dolokhov felt himself grow a little cold and uncomfortable. He didn’t know why his immediate response was a hard no, he should be more supportive. Just something about a room full of people like Anatole, all open and honest about themselves seemed like it’d be too much to handle. “Sorry, I-uh have football everyday so…” he said hating the words. He new they were basically lies as he could always swing by for the twenty minutes before practice.

 

“Aw well you go have fun with your sweaty men tackling each other. Maybe I should’ve tried out, seems like a good time,” he said joking.

 

Dolokhov blushed slightly. “Shut up you dork” he said pushing Anatole’s shoulder lightly. “I really should go though.” He now dreaded going even more, only wanting to stay here with Anatole, talking and joking. 

 

“Of course, I’ll see you later Fedya. Go have fun for me,” he said with a wink already backing away.

 

While it felt as hard as getting out of a warm bed he forced himself to start walking away shouting back “I think you and I have very different definitions of fun.”

 

*****

 

They absolutely did in most ways. Which is why throughout high school they had pretty separate social circles. Dolokhov hung around the sporty people who he could tolerate and a couple of decent human beings that took high level classes with him. Anatole had the orchestra people and chorus people and drama people and GSA people and really anyone in the school who was involved in anything he found interesting. He was always so involved, so well liked, filled to the brim with charm and good looks that got him in and out of trouble.

 

Their only overlap was the parties, where Anatole dominated and Dolokhov was either dragged into the spotlight with him or more often skulked in the corner chatting occasionally. He wasn’t much of one for hookups, just occasionally making out with a few different girls to pass the time. Never really found it too appealing. 

 

Anatole found them maybe too appealing. He had mentioned to Dolokhov once that he relied a little too heavily on validation from others. At the time he didn’t really get it but the next party they went to it was obvious. 

 

***

 

Early sophomore year hadn’t been great for Fedya. He had the heaviest coursework he’d ever taken and while his enjoyment of the sport was still low he was apparently good in football, putting immense pressure on him to practice more and more. 

 

The parties which freshman year seemed bland and a waste began to be one of the only times he could not worry. Also they provided basically the only place he saw Anatole ever. It was hard to schedule in a second of free time on top of them. 

 

Thus Dolokhov and him were leaning against the wall in a house he wasn’t even sure who lived in, talking for the first time in a week besides texts. It seemed that Fedya was immensely behind on the update in Anatole’s life where he was madly in love with the flute freshman in orchestra. 

 

“She is absolutely gorgeous and really sweet and also gives off major bi vibes if the way she looks at Helene says anything,” the boy said excitedly. 

 

“You want to date someone who has a crush on your sister?” Dolokhov teased but not really feeling into it. 

 

“Everyone has a crush on my sister if they like girls, my options would halve if I considered that significant,” Anatole said smiling. 

 

“I forgot, the Kuragin siblings are universally lusted after,” he said a tiny bit of annoyance leaking into his voice unexpectedly. 

 

“You know it,” he said oblivious as ever. “I’m sorry I’ve been talking all about myself what’s new with you Fedya?”

 

“You always talk all about yourself. I’m used to it by now,” Dolokhov said a smile returning to his face. “I’m fine though, same old same old busy life.”

 

“I know, you barely have any time for me any more” Anatole whined lightly.

 

“Don’t pretend you’re not just as busy, you needy shit” Dolokhov said pushing at his shoulder lightly.

 

“I’m not ‘busy’ I’m  _involved_ there’s a difference,” he said with a smile.

 

“Yeah the difference is your natural talent makes everything easy as shit.”

 

“Hey I didn’t ask to be good at everything” he said with a happy glint in his eye. Dolokhov didn’t respond just shook his head fondly and continued to look at his face. He understood why the boy pulled as many people as he did, he truly was beautiful.

 

“Let’s dance.”

 

“What?” Dolokhov said startled from his focus on Anatole’s fair skin and high cheekbones.

 

“C’mon” he said dragging Fedya from the wall over to the area of the house where music blared and people used dancing as an excuse to get uncomfortably close to each other, or at least how Dolokhov saw it. In reality he enjoyed dancing and the music, especially when it was him and Anatole but the charade of trying to look impressive and not even enjoying yourself was ridiculous. Still, he could never say no to the white haired boy.

 

Together they pushed their way to the center of the crowd of about twenty or thirty people and without a moment’s hesitation, Anatole began moving his body to the rhythm. For a pasty white boy Dolokhov was always surprised at how decent he was at dancing, if a times just a bit Much. It all stemmed from overconfidence and an intrinsic sense of pulse. Fedya stood mostly still, lightly bouncing to the beat and keeping his eyes on Anatole. It was always lovely to watch his hips sway and arms move about. His eyes were half closed and face free tension, embracing his natural element of music.

 

After a minute those eyes glanced and seeing Fyodor not embracing the atmosphere, grabbed one of his hands and pull him closer. Attaching their other hands Anatole began moving back and forth to the beat, forcing Dolokhov to move as well. He rolled his eyes at the dorky style but couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on his face. Say what you will about Anatole but the kid could never be accused of not being himself.

 

Their hands dropped from each others as they both began dancing lightly for real. Anatole seemed to be looking past Dolokhov, probably at one of his usuals. Something seemed to pull at the corners of Dolokhov’s smile. Sure enough a boy he knew all too well strolled over and not wasting a minute attached his hands to Anatole’s hips. The kid was the almighty of the drama department, a senior that Fyodor probably had no right calling kid. His eyes sparkled and face was as flawless as a statue and sure he was a self righteous jackass who treated Anatole like a figurine that gave decent blowjobs but what did that matter. Dolokhov wasn’t drunk enough. 

 

He walked back over to the kitchen to down whatever cheap alcohol he could and spotted Helene in the corner being flirted at by some guy she was ignoring in favor of openly checking out some girl across the room. Those damned Kuragins, only ever one thing on their mind. Well he could use this one to his advantage at least. 

 

He quickly poured and downed a solid two shots worth of a crap vodka before making his way over to her. Quickly her eyes lit up when she saw him and a mischievous smirk rose to her lips. “Ah my favorite of my brother’s friends” she said stepping away from the now offended guy who eventually took the hint and stormed away. 

 

“You’re just saying that” he replied with a matching smile.

 

“Never. You’re far less dramatic than those artistic types” she said.

 

“You would think Anatole would have enough dramatics simply from himself” he said a little bit of bitterness seeping into his tone. 

 

“Is that some jealousy I detect” she teased. Helene had always been the more observant of siblings. This wasn’t what he had come over here for but he was annoyed enough that he just needed to complain.

 

“I’m sick of coming second just because he can’t fuck me” Dolokhov said trying to keep his voice light and failing pretty miserably. He may not be great at expressing his emotions but he was also pretty bad at hiding them. Blunt was the way he liked to describe himself. 

 

“You’re sure you’re not jealous because  _you_ can’t fuck him” Helene smirked.

 

“Oh fuck off honestly, not everything is about sex. It’s just the first time we’ve seen each other in a week and it takes him less than fifteen minutes to ditch me”  he said feeling a little hot. He hadn’t realized how annoyed he was.

 

“I’m sorry the constant irritating texting is insufficient.”

 

“It’s different alright. Whatever. Never mind forget I mentioned it.” Dolokhov dug his fingernails into his palms. “Let’s go dance.”

 

“Alright. But just so you know you’ve never come second” she said flitting ahead of him towards the other room. He had weird feeling in his stomach, some mixture of settled anger, confusion and something else. He walked back over to the drinks to get another. It splashed down only adding to the boiling mixture but gave him a minute to breathe. 

 

He wandered out back into the room filled with people and music. Glancing around for Helene he noticed in the corner a guy sulking and with a drink in hand. Following Pierre’s eyeline led him directly to Helen dancing and flirting her way around the crowd. A sudden irritation flared in Dolokhov. He was so sick of those two, only still technically dating for the label of it. All it caused was anger in Pierre and guilt in Helene which they both simply ignored. He was so sick of these Kuragins’ games, so sick of this merry-go-round of obliviousness and hurt.

 

A sharp coldness flared in Dolokhov’s heart and he walked right over to Helene, wanting to settle this bullshit. People would flirt and dance and make promises for later but everyone knew the lines with Helene and that they were not her lines. Fuck those lines. 

 

“Oh there you are. I was worried you had drowned yourself completely in your sorrows” Helene said when she noticed him.

 

Quickly he wrapped his arms around her stomach, pulled her against his chest, and kissed her lightly on the neck. “Who said anything about sorrow” he said with an only slightly fake grin.

 

She smiled a devious smile with the quickest glance towards the corner of the room he only just caught. “Oh fuck him, if he wanted you he should get off his ass and be over here” Fedya said trailing more kisses up her neck. He didn’t know why he was doing this, he didn’t have a thing for Helene at all, just burned with this unexplainable rage. 

 

Glancing up he was immediately caught by the glares of Pierre whose eyes were stormy with an underlying hurt. Dolokhov couldn’t stop the smirk growing in the corner of his mouth, channeling through his eyes the simple message of “I dare you”. 

 

And Pierre moved forward through the crowd. Fedya was surprised, never thought the other would truly have the nerve. “What the fuck are you doing?” Pierre asked nearly shouting with anger. 

 

Dolokhov smirked again. “Just showing you the truth” he replied placing one last kiss to Helene who pulled away from him looking annoyed and the tiniest bit guilty. 

 

“Fuck you” Pierre spat.

 

“We’ve already established you’re clearly not too great at that.”

 

He was expecting the punch but it still jolted him a bit. Dolokhov stumbled backwards, clutching a hand to his face as his ears rang. Even as a person who knew how to start a fight he had still doubted his ability to get the respectable scholarly Pierre to that point. A weird blend of anger and excitement filled him as he raised his own fist.

 

He was mid swing when a voice made him falter. “Pierre, look out” shouted Anatole from behind him somewhere. The hesitation caused Dolokhov’s fist to land far lighter than he had intended, still hitting the other boy’s cheek but not hard enough to cause the pain currently sprouting in his own head. These damned Kuragins ruined everything.

 

A hand pulled him back, reminding him of that day several years before at recess. He went with it easily, already feeling defeated. It crashed down completely when the hand swiftly removed the contact as Anatole checked with Pierre and then his sister. Fedya’s stomach felt like it had been filled with lead and his face flamed. He was suddenly grateful for the throbbing pain of his head, it gave him something to focus on to prevent the tears that burned behind his eyes.

 

He glared at the ground frozen for a few minutes before a gentle hand lifted his head to look at his face. “Are you alright Fedya?” Anatole said with concern but a faint underline of exasperation. Dolokhov relaxed into the touch for a second before his irritation flared up and he jerked away.

 

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth “You can go back to everyone else now.” He started to walk away feeling cold everywhere but the burning behind his eyes and where the blood rushed in his cheek.

 

“Fedya,” Anatole said but was ignored as the other boy continued to storm out and push past the crowd of people that had turned towards the scene. “Fedya wait” he yelled trying to push through himself but giving up quickly, as it was obvious Dolokhov wouldn’t talk to him. 

 

Fedya managed to get out into the cool air and darkness of nighttime before the tears began to fall. He didn’t know why he had been so stupid, so irritated all night. It had all been so idiotic, acting childish and impulsive just to get attention. Why couldn’t he just mind his own damn business? He knew he needed to work on not being so reckless, not picking these stupid fights with people but he didn’t know how. Just tonight he probably had lost three of his few friends and he had no way to fix it.

 

Hot tears continued to fall down his cheeks as he walked the whole way home. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had cried for this long or this heavily. Sobs shook his chest but for the most part he stayed silent, not disrupting the quiet of suburban night. 

  
  


The next day he woke up with a headache to his mom yelling to him about another headache. It wasn’t even 11am and already Anatole was here to pester him. Dolokhov quickly got up out of bed pulling on a pair of sweatpants knowing the other boy wouldn’t be deterred by any protests or a closed door. 

 

As predicted not a minute later in walked in Anatole without knocking. “Your mother really is so lovely. I swear I’m a month away from convincing her to just figure out how to sign for me to go on T.” His smile was light and appearance impeccable. He always seemed perfectly refreshed in the mornings no matter what had happened the night before.

 

“What are you doing here?” Dolokhov asked irritation slipping into his tone. His anger from last night was festering again, that sharp hurt still stinging across his cheek. 

 

“Coming to see my friend dumbass. You never go out when you have things in the morning so I knew you’d still be here.”

 

Fedya clenched his fists, frozen in the center of his room. Anatole leaned against the wall next to the door carefree as always. “What makes you think I want to see you?”

 

Anatole smiled in that way that Dolokhov hated and looked at him as if he could see to his core. “Of course you’d want to see me,” he stated plainly. 

 

He fucking hated when he did that. Said that one fucking thing that made the rage in him fizzle into nothingness without even trying. His fists unclenched and he walked a step or two towards Anatole. “Just tell me what’s up?” he said trying to keep some annoyance in his voice.

 

“Wanted to thank you,” he said with a smirk. “Apparently Pierre was so _invigorated_ by your little fight he finally got the balls to confront my sister.”

 

“Huh.” Dolokhov was surprised but mostly felt a flare of shame for being so excessive the night before.

 

“Helene admitted to him she actually thinks she’s aromantic, thank god. I of course wanted her to take her own time but it was getting unfair towards Pierre.”

 

“Oh. Yeah that makes sense.” Dolokhov felt almost worse knowing Helene had a reason to be hesitant in breaking up with Pierre. If it had mattered that much to him he should’ve just talked to her, he thought.

 

“Also Pierre admitted right after that he thinks he’s ace. Really quite the pair those two.” His tone is one of flippiancy but with a touch of fond. He pushed gently off the wall and began wandering the room. Despite the fact he could probably list the items by heart he still wandered to Fedya’s bureaus, picking up trinkets to inspect before placing them back, mostly in the wrong places.

 

All the anger in Dolokhov had fled him leaving a sick ball of guilt at the bottom of his stomach. He knew Anatole certainly was not someone he needed to apologize to yet he felt the desire to anyway. “I-”

 

“Oh hey also,” Anatole said abruptly, turning back to Fedya holding some seashell Dolokhov had gotten from the beach years ago. “I wanted your help with something.” 

 

“Yes?” This was always the way with him. Always getting Dolokhov involved with his plans and tribulations. A slight smile turned up Fedya’s lips.

 

“Could you help me write this letter? I want to say something sweet to that flutist to charm her but unfortunately as you know writing was the one art I never flourished in.” The words were so nonchalant yet there was a slight tinge of worry in his eyes along with a spark of something darker maybe even manipulation.

 

Fedya remembered the seashell in the other boy’s hand was one given to him by Anatole when they were very young. Anatole hadn’t wanted to go in the ocean as he wasn’t allowed to in his shirt and shorts and so of course neither did Fedya. The shell had been a thank you. Dolokhov had always been wrapped around his finger, always padding along beside, waiting for the next pretty thank you. 

 

“Yeah fine I’ll help” he said any irritation remaining playful. His heart squeezed a bit tighter but he fell back where he always was, right by Anatole’s side. Those rewards never really ever came yet still it always seemed worth it.

 

*********

 

He lay on his side staring at the wall, eyes tracing the light marks that covered the old white paint job. His consciousness existed entirely in these swirling memories, decoding every little action- in himself and of course in _him_ . How had it been so easy for _him_ ? Not that it was _easy_ , just so simple. Straightforward. 

 

Dolokhov knew. Of course he knew, he’d known for months, maybe even years. It hadn’t been some overnight epiphany yet also none it had made any sense until just a few days ago. That day where his eyes followed the curve of Anatole’s lip and he didn’t brush it off as his brain being stupid, where the thoughts “well I might kinda like guys but I’m certainly not entirely gay” stopped making any fucking sense. When you’ve only ever loved one person and they were a guy that kind of made you gay.

 

Dolokhov giggled to himself slightly not really knowing why. Already a piece of the weight was lifting of his chest, when the pressure had felt unbearable this morning. It seemed almost silly, it’s not like any important people in his life would care. Anatole was so aggressively out he’s long since scared off any homophobes by now plus there were already a couple guys in sports who were out. His mother was another non-issue especially given the way she basically offered to adopt Anatole once a week anytime he struggled with his parents. Just silly.

 

Yet he was reminded of something Anatole had said once, that coming out was an internal journey. It hadn’t really made sense to him then, seemed to negate itself based on word structure alone but now he understood. This whole mess in his head was far more intimidating than telling his mother would be.

 

As if summoned by his thoughts, there was suddenly a gentle knock on his door before his mother peeked her head in. “Just wanted to check how you were feeling?” she said stepping partially into the room.

 

Fedya sat up in bed to look at her and felt a strange mixture of excitement and fear flood through him. He could tell her, right this instant. And oh did he want to.

 

“Fedya?” she asked, looking concerned.

 

He swallowed over a lump rapidly growing in his throat. Maybe he had spoke too soon about that whole intimidation factor. “Could I tell you something?” He tried to ignore how light his breathing and body felt.

 

“Yes of course, is everything alright?” She moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He was ready for this, needed this. Still his voice caught and his hands trembled the slightest bit. Why was this so hard.

 

The silencing was deafening and he needed to fill it. “I-I think I’m gay. Yeah I’m gay” he said averting his eyes, feeling his heart wanting to burst. 

 

Very rapidly he was pulled into an embarrassingly enthusiastic hug. “I love you my sweet boy. Thank you for telling me” she said so kindly it brought a couple tears to the backs of his eyes. Fuck he loved his mother.

 

“Only if you’re comfortable, but could I ask you a question?” she asked.

 

Expecting he could guess most questions she had he had zero qualms with it. “Yeah of course.”

 

“Does this mean you might actually do more than stare at Tolya’s face now?” a smirk growing on her face.

 

“I don’t- that’s what do you,” he spluttered. “Mom!”

 

“I’m not oblivious Fyodor, you’ve been around him for far too long to not realize that you look at him differently than you do anyone else.”

 

“Well I-”

 

“Take your own pace of course but know, I think Anatole may be getting tired of waiting. He’s certainly running out of other people to fuck in place of you.”

 

“Mom!”

 

“I only speak the facts Fedya,” she said a grin forming on her face at the astounded look on her son’s.

 

“We’ll see” he said having his doubts. Would Anatole really have stuck around this long ‘waiting’ for Dolokhov? Of course it didn’t have to be waiting, they were friends it was for friendship. But there couldn’t possibly be something else could there? 

 

“One issue at a time love, you already tackled a big enough hurdle today” his mom said, seeing the starts of distress upon his face. “Now c’mon before our dinner burns.”

 

She gets up and walks out. Dolokhov stands to follow and feels lighter than he had for months, feels like he could take on the world- or maybe even a Kuragin.

 

******

 

A few days later after he had collected his thoughts Dolokhov felt as ready as he’d ever be. He tried not to plan out a speech or anything given he would definitely fumble it to hell in the moment yet still the theoretical scenario swam in his head constantly. Should he mention his feelings now? Would Anatole hate him? What if he already knew?

 

He needed to just get this whole thing over with, he has the biggest queer for a best friend already it’s not that big of a deal. He’s sick of the stress of it all.

 

After last period Dolokhov headed straight to the band room where he knew Anatole went every afternoon. His hands were sweating just walking down the stairs and through the hall he often ventured to rouse the musician from his shelter. 

 

Stepping into the large room he was met with tall ceilings and a crowd of students. Glancing around and returning waves halfheartedly, he found Anatole in the corner packing up his violin. “Oh hey Fedya” Anatole said, barely looking up from what he was doing, as the other boy approached.

 

“Hey uh could we talk?” Dolokhov said trying to make his voice sound steady. 

 

“Sure what’s up?” he replied still engaged in polishing the instrument in front of him.

 

“Uh alone?” This got Anatole’s attention with him immediately standing and turning around.

 

Their eyes met and Anatole took in Dolokhov’s strained appearance, just a little too tense. “Come with me” he said with a soft smile, dragging him by the hand out of the band room, down the hall, and into a practice room.

 

Once there Dolokhov leaned against the wall as Anatole closed the door. “So what’s up?” Anatole asked sounding worried. 

 

Dolokhov swallowed and took a breath. This had always been so much easier for 

. “Oh uh well, I’m gay.” A quick euphoria flooded through him at the words.

 

The other boy furrowed his eyebrows in a happy but confused expression. “Really? I mean I had my suspicions but I always thought… You had those girls and I mean the whole Helene- not that you can’t or that that invalidates being gay I just am surprised-”

 

Dolokhov smiled fondly at his rambling. “Tolya” he tried to interrupt.

 

“Oh fuck I’m sorry I don’t mean to question you of course you know your own identity and past attraction or experimentation with girls doesn’t invalidate that. Or future for that matter- or present. It’s just a label y'know-”

 

“Hey Tolya,” Dolokhov said finally getting the other boy to look him in the eye. “Shut up” he said through a smile before leaning in closer. 

 

Their lips brushed softly testing the water before increasing to a full kiss. Anatole seemed to pause only a second before enthusiastically returning passion. Their mouths moved together softly, slightly open, as Dolokhov moved his hands gently to the back of Anatole’s neck, grazing the soft hair on the back of his head.

 

After a minute or so of gentle kissing Fedya pulled away softly, thrilling at the way the pale  haired boy chased his lips. Looking up at his face his eyes were blown wide and he was the slightest bit breathy. “So any more comments on whether I’m gay or not?”

 

“Shut up” Anatole said barely audible due to the lightness of his voice before quickly pulling them back together. 

 

And in that moment Dolokhov thanked every day, every memory that led him to that exact spot for there was no other placed he would rather be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading this thing has taken me months to write and I'm really happy it with it so I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to leave kudos or comments I love replying to them. Also if you want to follow my tumblr which is honestly mostly falsettos content right now its's queer-and-trashy.tumblr.com


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